My Cup Overfloweth....but not today.

Every woman has a cup in their soul to hold tears. Some of us have larger containers than others. If something happens that elevates our spirits, dampens them, enrages them, or snuffs them out -- some tears get added to the cup. The more emotional the situation (be it emotions of joy, sadness, or anger...any emotion, really), the more tears fill the cup. You can imagine the moment when the situation brings enough tears to overflow the cup (hint: imagine someone crying).
Some women's tear cups are smaller than the size of a thimble, and that is why they cry more frequently -- it doesn't take much to fill their cup. Other women's tear cups are a little larger, and therefore they don't cry as easily.
Don't be mistaken in thinking that a larger tear cup is better than a smaller tear cup. Each has its own advantages and disadvantages. While someone with a smaller cup may cry more easily, she will also more likely stop crying just as easily. Smaller tear cups equal not as many tears. That is why when a woman with a small tear cup hears joyous news, she may shed a couple of tears of joy, and then be able to move on without being completely beside herself in the following moments.
On the other hand, take a woman with a large tear cup. While it takes more to get her started to shed tears, it also may be difficult for her to stop once started, as there is a bigger bank of tears to draw from. That is why a woman whose tear cup is large, while able to contain her emotions through stressful and frustrating times, will one day break into uncontrollable tears and cry for at least 10-15 minutes. Such a woman might actually seem inconsolable, but it is actually good for her to get those tears out. Let them run their course.
No matter the size of their tear cup, most women agree that when it's starting to get filled, it feels good to just let it overflow.
It should be noted that at certain times of the month, a women's cup may be automatically filled to the brim, or somewhere near it. This explains why we sometimes cry at the drop of a hat or all day long.

Men, I would imagine, have tear cups too. ...But their's have lids.

Smoke Breaks

I've been thinking lately that if I were to ever open up my own business, I would make sure one of the interview questions I asked potential new employees was: "Are you a smoker?"
I think it would be a valid question, because it has been my experience that smokers require more breaks than the average nonsmoker. And anyone, be they a smoker or not, should agree with me. At least, for the sake of this post. Actually, if you disagree, that's ok too. We can still be friends.
Anyway, when I was thinking of this interview question, a bunch of other thoughts came to my head. A bunch of "what ifs," if you will. And I'll share those with you, but first, reminisce with me.

A couple of a jobs ago, when I was still one of the newbies, my supervisor and I had this interaction (it should first be noted that it was early on in the shift, it was not busy, and we were the only ones working):
Her: Hey, if you need a smoke break, now would be the time to take one.
Me (not a smoker): Ok, thanks.

I then went and got a cup, filled it with water (not too much of a pop drinker, either), and sat down. I was about two sips in when we had this conversation:

Her: What are you doing?
Me: I'm taking a water break. You said I could take a quick --
Her: I said you could take a smoke break. What if the boss comes in and sees you just sitting there?!

I am still baffled to this day as to what the difference is between sitting outside and smoking, and sitting anywhere and doing something else. I have yet to work at a place where it's encouraged to sit and do something other than work...unless you're taking a "quick smoke break."

Here is where all the "what ifs" come into play.

What if, for any old addiction, you could take a quick break? Say I'm addicted to updating this blog....what would it be like if someone said to me, "Hey Laura, do you need 10 minutes to go update your blog? Now would be a good time to go do that." Or what if someone was addicted to trimming their nails? Would it be acceptable for them to take a few breaks just to quick go do that? What about sitting and staring at nothing? What if someone got cranky just because they didn't get their regular fix of sitting and staring at nothing?

Or let's think of something a bit more realistic. What if some kid is addicted to sending people text messages? I think it's appropriate to say "some kid," because not too many people over the age of 20 need to text their friends every ten minutes. Or even every day, for that matter. In the future, do you think it will be acceptable to send people on breaks so they can text people?

What if someone comes up with a study that concludes, "Texting may be harmful to your health. Pregnant women should use care when texting.....etc." Soon different restaurants around the country would have to have "texting sections." And when you were waiting to be seated, the host would ask, "Texting or non?" Not long after that, people in the non-texting section would complain that "just because there is a divider between sections, doesn't mean that some of the texting doesn't leak into our section." And the people in the texting section would retort with things like, "I can't help it, I started when I was just a kid" or "Those studies haven't proven anything, I can quit texting whenever I want." People would write angry letters to their newspaper's editors, and then to their favorite politician, and after some time, a few establishments would label themselves as "Non-texting restaurants." I would imagine they would put signs up like, "Thank you for not texting" and "Text-free."

I can't help but picture some poor sap, on her first day on the job, when her supervisor tells her that if she needs to take a text-break, now would be a good time. And then the look on the supervisor's face when she finds the girl just sitting there smoking a cigarette. "What are you doing?! What if the boss sees you?!"

Ten Years Ago, Remembered

We opened the door, and my brother was sitting on the floor playing Nintendo.
"What are you doing home?" we asked.
It was fishing opener. My 10-year-old brother got out of school early, so he and my dad could go fishing. They should've been gone by now.
"Dad doesn't feel good. He has a headache. He's sleeping."
"Oh."

Moments later, my Dad stumbled, slightly off-balanced, down the hall. He needed something to drink. He went to the fridge and got a bottle of Coke, and then stumbled back down the hall.
"Are you ok?" my sister and I asked.
"Yeah."

"Let's watch the movie Hook. I got it from the Library," my sister suggested.
That sounded like a good plan, so we put the movie in and began watching. My brother got up to go to the bathroom, or perhaps to go see how Dad was doing. Seconds later, he ran down the hall to tell us that Dad was passed out in the doorway between the bathroom and our parents' bedroom. We called Mom, who was scheduled to be home from work in about an hour, to see what to do. She asked if Dad was breathing. We said that he was. She said that she'd be home soon.

When Mom got home she went to check on my dad. Brought him some aspirin. Helped him into bed. Suggested that she take him to the doctor.
He refused. He said he didn't need to go to the doctor.
My siblings and I continued to watch our movie. Mom started to think about dinner.

About halfway through the movie, Mom went to check on Dad. She came back reporting that she couldn't wake him up. He wouldn't wake up. She was going to call 911.

I decided that I was going to my room and shut the door. I didn't know what else to do. I brought some homework with me and set it on my lap. Soon I could hear paramedics in the house. I covered my ears with my hands. All I could think was, "Maybe he'll have to go to the hospital for something. Maybe he'll have to stay there for awhile, and we'd go visit him. Maybe it would help him to stop smoking." I was always nagging him about his smoking.

Just when it was almost too much to bear, our neighbor lady came over and took us over to her house. Just so we could get away. As I stepped out into the hallway, I could see a bunch of people standing over my dad. They had him laying on the floor. He was not awake.

We walked over to the neighbor's. It's all a blur until my mom came over. She had a blank expression on her face. We asked her "What's happening? Is Dad ok? Did they take him to the hospital?"

"He's gone."

"He's....dead?"

Mom nodded. "They think maybe it was an Aneurysm in his brain."

Everyone started to cry. I couldn't cry. Not yet. But I would later that night in my bed, by myself, where no one could see me. Everything at that very moment seemed so surreal. So unexpected. How could my dad, who got up and went to work that morning, who was fine the night before, be gone?


Author's note: This is typed as is. As I was thinking it. It's not trying to be anything literary. It's just a memory, as I remember it. It's probably seems "rough-draft-esque," but I have no intentions of going back and editing it. It stands as it is.

Dedicated to my Dad.
March 6, 1952-May 14, 1997

Bridges

.....And since pictures are worth a thousand words, maybe someday I'll try to come up with a thousand words that describe each of these pictures. Don't hold your breath, though.